


Hoot Twice Like a Barn Owl

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Series: A Company of Brothers [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Sounds, Durin Family Adorableness, Gen, Hair is Serious Business, M/M, Possessive Wee Dwarflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kili was little, he went through a time when he loved animals.  </p><p>It was perfectly normal, of course, for dwarflings to learn about animals.  Fili, Kili’s proud and so-much-older brother, worked very hard with his <i>nadadith</i> to make sure he could name all the important ones (it was a matter of brotherly pride, after all). </p><p>Then he introduced sounds, and maybe it got a little out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoot Twice Like a Barn Owl

**Author's Note:**

> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)

When Kíli was little, he went through a time when he loved animals. He liked to draw them in the dirt with a pointed stick, pet them if they looked sufficiently friendly, constantly ask the adults around him to identify different kinds, and showed off his basic animal-knowledge at every given opportunity.

It was perfectly normal, of course, for dwarflings to learn about animals. Fíli, Kíli’s proud and so-much-older brother, worked very hard with his _nadadith_ to make sure he could name all the important animals: dog, cat, mouse, owl, raven, bird (At eleven, Fíli classified all non-ravens and non-owls animals-that-flew as “bird”), goat, cow, sheep, deer, and wolf. He took the lessons so seriously (and so adorably) that Dís asked Balin to sketch some of the more unusual animals – ones Fíli couldn’t point out in the market or at camp – on scraps of paper, which she bound with some old leather into a little book. 

Now armed with visual aids, her elder son expanded on Kíli’s lessons. He introduced sounds. 

Not normal, baby versions of animal sounds – oh, no. Fíli had his late father’s excellent ear and flair for mimicry. Even as a dwarfling barely in his double-digits, Fíli could accurately reproduce the squawks, growls, and howls of the animal kingdom, and he was determined to pass this skill on to his beloved brother.

So determined, in fact, that Dís received her first inklings that her easy-going Fíli had a heavier dose of Uncle Thorin Stubbornness than she’d thought. 

Everywhere the boys went that year, they practiced.

“Dog!” Kíli abruptly announced as Dís tried to manage two dwarflings and a collection of packages through streets crowded with Men. His tiny finger pointed at a random cur that was tied in front of a shop as if he’d discovered a vein of mithril.

“Good,” Fíli praised, making Kíli do a happy little wiggle at his brother’s attention. Their hands were swinging between them as they walked. Fíli knew to never let Kíli go, not after that incident with the washtub. “What does the dog say?”

“Woof!” Kíli cried happily. Not the word, but the sound, down deep in his tiny chest.

When the first sound passed muster (not a guarantee), Fíli took Kíli through sharp barks, growls, and snarls. (“Do we pet dogs who _grrr_ , Kíli?” “No, Fíli! We get away!”) Considering the amount of attention this drew to her little family, Dís knew she should probably put a stop to it. She learned, though, that her boys actually functioned as a sort of bridge between the wandering dwarves of Erebor and village Men. Fíli and Kiil’s small size and boisterous enthusiasm made the big folk smile as they might over the own children. 

Besides, it kept them busy. No mother would refuse that gift.

\--

As the seasons changed, and Durin’s Folk continued their long trek to the Blue Mountains, Fíli – and therefore Killi - expanded their catalog of animal identifications and sounds. Dwalin began teaching them about different birds, Thorin about predators, and Dís about animals that could best be hunted to fill little bellies. Fíli became a constant pint-sized visitor to Balin’s tent, always with Kíli in tow, so that they could add pages to Kíli’s special book. 

Dís got to witness this once, tucked away discretely in a corner where Balin had secreted her when he saw the boys coming. 

“I’m fairly certain hiding in corners is beneath the dignity of a princess of Erebor,” Dís had chided good naturedly as he shooed her behind a privacy curtain. “And Mister Balin!” she rested a hand over her heart as she perched on the edge of what turned out to be his cot. “Whatever would Thorin say?” 

“That I’m not man enough for you,” Balin replied easily, and she laughed as he hurried back out to sit at his desk.

Dís’s boys entered with all seriousness. Fíli was in the lead, as always, with Kíli’s sticky right hand gripping the back of his elder brother’s coat (which, Dís noted with a mother’s eye, was getting a bit short in the arms; Fíli would need a new one soon). In Kíli’s left hand, he held the precious book of animal drawings. His hair was, of course, a mess, and he had jam on his cheek. 

Her neat little Fíli, with his lovely braids, stepped forward and executed a perfect little bow. “Mr. Balin,” he greeted formally, lifting his little chin. Mahal, that child was cute. He looked just like his father sometimes, even if he tried to act all stuffy like his uncle. When Kíli didn’t bow as well, Fíli reached back – without looking – hauled his brother forward, pressed a hand to the back of Kíli’s head and pushed gently. This time they bowed together.

“Mr. Balin!” Kíli squeaked belatedly. 

“Master Fíli,” Balin replied, and Dís fancied she could see his eyes twinkle from her hiding spot, “and Master Kíli. What can I do for the fine young sons of Dís on this day?”

“Kíli needs to learn about barn owls,” Fíli announced in his Very Grown Up voice, the one he used when Kíli tried to get out of his simple chores at home. “I would like to request a picture of a barn owl for Kíli’s book.”

Balin had told Dís of these little exchanges. He said he’d once asked Fíli why he didn’t “formally request” the pictures. Fíli had solemnly informed him that “formal” meant “important boring stuff” and not pictures for his brother (despite being a generally giving little boy, willing to share his toys and help out at home, Fíli had a thick possessive streak for Kíli – _my_ brother was how he tended to refer to him). Balin claimed he had conceded this point with an utterly straight face.

Balin hemmed and hawed a bit about being _very busy_ and _important business, lots to do_. In response, Fíli gave Kíli a brisk push on the back, causing the smaller dwarfling to stumble forward. Kíli was all wide, hopeful eyes and chubby fingers wrapped with reverence about his beloved book, hair a halo of fluff and leaves. He’d lost a front tooth recently, to devastating effect on surrounding adults and older dwarflings (save Fíli, who was largely immune). “Pwease, Mr. Bwalin,” he said breathlessly at Fíli’s nudge, “I wanna see the owls. Pwease.”

Balin, obviously, immediately caved. 

Dís eyed her elder son. That was more clever and manipulative than any twelve-year-old had a right to be.

Vavi would have been so proud.

\--

When the boys started using an animal-call-of-they-day to keep up with each other when out of shared sight, it seemed a little odd, but Dís decided the usefulness of it outweighed any concerns about it being strange. 

It became perfectly normal to stand beside the shared cook fire in the late afternoon with Fíli while Kíli napped, only to hear the cry of a hawk or the bark of a pup from inside their tent. Fíli would perk up like a little golden fawn. “Kíli,” he’d say, and then let out an answering call. Sometimes, Fiil would go back to carefully preparing vegetables. Others, he would immediately scamper off, only to return in a few minutes with a slightly red-eyed baby brother. 

“Bad dream,” he’d tell his mother solemnly, and she had no idea how he figured that out from listening to his brother chirp from several yards away.

Thorin and Dwalin both commended the boys’ new method of communication.

“It’ll be straight useful in an ambush,” Dwalin said approvingly as the boys whistled at each other across their current campsite. “Vavi used to hoot like a barn owl when he set up his shots. Always took bandits by surprise when their leader took an arrow to the eye and a band of dwarf warriors tore out of the brush at the rest of them under orders from an owl.”

“And for hunting,” Dís agreed. Female dwarves didn’t spend time at war, but they were fierce fighters and often great hunters. Dís was one of Thorin’s best archers, though she hadn’t been on a proper hunt since her Vavi died. “My Kíli’s going to be an archer someday.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose, and his lips parted, but Dís raised a warning hand before her brother could say anything _unnecessary_ about Kíli’s perceived clumsiness. Maybe his knees were constantly bruised, but he had fine, clever fingers. She had him braiding Fíli’s hair and he was already better at it than his brother. 

\--

It was the hair braiding that brought Kíli’s fascination with animal sounds to a head.

If Fíli was possessive about Kíli in general, Kíli was possessive about Fíli’s hair. The brunet’s own rat's nest laughed at any attempts to control it, but Fíli’s was rather fun to work with. He was surprisingly calm and still when Dís brushed and braided his hair, quite at odds with Kíli, who spent most of his time whining that it pulled and trying to get away. The quiet evenings, every few days, when Fíli would sit on the ground with his mother behind him, were some of Dís’s favorite times with her elder son. They would talk quietly as she combed, separated, and braided, keeping the honeyed locks out of his eyes. It was a rare moment of peace in these wandering days, when what was left of her people were scrabbling for everything and sleeping under the stars more often than not.

Which lasted until two days after Kíli’s sixth birthday, when he imperiously climbed into her lap, stole the comb, and said, “This is my job.”

“It is?”

“Yes.” With certainty.

“And why, my little dark stone, is that?”

“Because I’m big now. So it’s my job.”

And so, it became Kíli’s responsibility to comb and braid his brother’s hair. Dís’s impatient elder son became the image of tolerance while Kíli learned the art of braiding and how to comb without pulling. If Dís had been a little disappointed to lose this time with one son, any regret was replaced by sweet amusement as it became a moment among the three of them. 

Kíli liked to work best in his mother’s lap, and Fíli liked to quiz him while he worked. Dís couldn’t help but be impressed by their ever-increasing repertoire. Perhaps they could use the skill as entertainment at celebrations, seeing as neither had inherited any singing ability at all (noisy Kíli couldn’t even hum a recognizable tune, not that it kept him from belting along with the others). Dís imagined a lifetime of this, the lessons changing as they grew (she knew there was no way Fíli would not start teaching Kíli Khuzdul when he began to learn, even though Kíli wouldn’t be old enough yet), and smiled. 

Thorin was often away in those years, working in the nearest village with a handful of other artisans, making enough money for them to pack up and continue on their voyage to the Erid Luin, where there was a loose promise to allow his group of Longbeards to settle in one of the abandoned mountains. They’d lost a good many people in the Iron Hills, but there were still several hundred dwarves following the crown prince as he led them across Arda in search of a home where they wouldn’t have to bow before another king. When he was in camp, though, he often helped look after the boys, especially at bedtime (when they were a bit sleepier and more manageable). He’d managed to be in camp for Kíli’s birthday, but had to leave the next morning. When he came home three months later the boys were thrilled to see him, and though he was tired, he volunteered to clean them up and get them ready for bed. Dís thought their delighted chatter soothed him when little else could.

He dipped them in the nearby river, scrubbed their hair, shoved and prodded them into clean underclothes, and carted them back to camp. Then he made a serious tactical error, which he couldn’t really be blamed for due to his recent absence: he set Kíli down among a small pile of toys and settled behind Fíli to briskly put in his braids. 

A sudden, strangled _hissing_ noise made the great prince startle and stare into the woods, one hand jerking toward the knife his sister knew he kept in his right boot.

Then a tiny hand snatched the comb from his fingers.

And he realized that the hissing was coming from a highly offended _dwarfling._

Dís knew that she should chastise her son. Hissing! At his uncle! Like a common barn cat!

But.

But Thorin’s _face._

If she could be an artist for only five minutes of her life, this would have been those five minutes. Thorin’s own hair was still loose, a bit tangled around his cheeks. His eyes were wider than she’d seen them since they were small, and his stern mouth was open in a little O of utter surprise. The resemblance between her brother and her younger son had never before been so obvious.

Her wild, sweet little Kíli, on the other hand, looked exactly like his Uncle Thorin when a Man tried to underpay. His eyes were narrowed, his little chin jutted, and he had his arms crossed angrily over his narrow chest.

The chest which was _growling._

“Dís,” Thorin said in a very, very careful tone.

“Yes, Thorin?” She thought she sounded pretty calm. Only a bit of the wild giggle in her chest managed to come out in her voice.

“Your son is growling at me.”

“So, ah, so I hear.” She snorfled a bit. She couldn’t help it. 

There was a beat of silence, save the growling. 

“ _Why_ is he growling at me?”

“Perhaps you should ask him,” she suggested.

Thorin blinked at her, utterly nonplussed, and then turned to his furious little nephew. “Why,” he asked, “are you hissing?”

Dís wasn’t sure if he meant, “Why are you hissing at me at this moment?” or “Why do you hiss at people in general when you are a dwarf and not a cat?” but Kíli took it as the former. 

“It is MY JOB,” he said, and there was another little spitting hiss that somehow fit him so well that Dís nearly fell over in her attempt not to laugh out loud, “to do Fíli's braids.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, at an apparent loss for words. Not an easy feat, that. Dís was impressed. She might have to try breaking into cat-noises next time he started rambling about retaking Erebor when it was well past her bedtime. Cautiously, he shifted back some.

Kíli promptly climbed into his lap and started running the comb through Fíli’s hair.

\--

So Dís had to have a conversation with her son about the appropriate use of his talents.

It was a somewhat awkward conversation, and Kíli didn’t seem to follow all of the reasoning, but he did agree, in the end, not to hiss at people anymore.

 _Especially_ Uncle Thorin. Because he had enough to deal with already.

**Epilogue**

Dís neglected to tell Kíli to stop growling at people. But, luckily, she was not around when Fíli rediscovered that particular habit of his brother’s. Many years later. In . . . private.

That would have been a thoroughly embarrassing situation for everyone involved.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic exists in the universe of my Fili/Kili story, _Arrogance,_ which is not a necessary read for it to make sense.
> 
> Its existence can be blamed on the lovely Werecakes, who probably did not know that commenting on chapter 6 of the above story would inspire something this silly. 
> 
> Hopefully Werecakes doesn't mind.


End file.
